A Dead Man Walking
by Wolfstar's Child
Summary: Ficlet about how Sirius returned from the dead. Starts angsty but has a happy, fluffy ending. RL/SB


Sirius POV

I'm scared. So scared. All around me is darkness, smothering, densely fogging up my brain and jumpstarting my nerves. This space, which feels like a cupboard at times and an endless wasteland at others, seems to be shrinking. My breath comes in shallow gasps, whistling, as I try to breathe. I shake my head, trying to displace the hair from my hair where it lies, sticking to my sweaty forehead. This sweat comes from fear; not heat, the cold sharp kind that paralyses.

I hear footsteps echo in the distance and wonder in the back of my mind how long I've been here. An hour, a day, a week. A year. I don't know. Time passes with no regard in this place.

I notice a low hum. Was it here before? Perhaps it was. The walls contract like the stomach of some colossal beast, rippling in a manner not unlike fabric in the wind. A welcome breeze blows over my face. This is new, I'm sure of it. The floor moves under me, and I'm standing. I find myself stumbling forward and through the wall. It feels like water, and air, and silk. Insubstantial and not quite there. A bright, blinding light burns my eyes along with a sudden assault of sound. I fall forward to meet the floor.

Remus POV

I tip the bottle back, welcoming the burn of the liquid fire pouring down my throat. It helps me forget, and that's something I desperately need. I don't want to remember him, but I can't even hope to forget him.

I gave up the pretence of normality after the last battle in Hogwarts, but what choice did I have? Voldemort was gone – after Sirius, the only thing I had left in my life worth fighting for was the cause and it was gone too. That's not to say, of course, that I was unhappy about this. But I have no purpose now. Even Tonks, so similar to her cousin is dead.

I'm living in his old house now. Grimmauld Place. Even the name sounds ominous; it rings of despair, dark and lonely. I'm in his bedroom, lying on the bed that still smells of him. It's the only room in the house I can bear, the only one that wasn't his mothers. I smile blearily at the posters of scantily clad women and motorbikes adorning the walls. Of course he would have these, even if only to drive his family insane.

I gulp from the bottle again, frowning when the last drops trickle into my mouth. I should stop. But I won't. I stand up and try to remember how to walk. One foot in front of the other, yes, that's it. The room spins and I sit down again with a surprised huff of breath. Trying again, I make it to the stairs and shuffle down in the general direction of the kitchen. Somehow, I find myself in the entrance hall.

I trip again, falling into the wall and knocking over an old hat stand. Curtains fly open, and Sirius's mother is yelling at me. I hear her in bursts, fading in and out like an old muggle radio.

'Filthy muggle loving scum ... Invading the noble house of Black ... Sodomising mudblood ... Foul halfbreed ...'

The insults pour on and on, until I come to my senses, crawling into the kitchen. I black out on the floor.

A loud crash wakes me up. I look up to find the door open, and another man lying on the floor in front of it. He has shaggy, long black hair and is wearing clothes that look like they came from a blind old man who lives on the street. He looks like Sirius.

But he isn't. Sirius is dead. I study the man with interest, noting how familiar his quiet snores sound. I think I'm going insane. The floor turns into the roof, and I'm falling falling falling falling then I'm gone again...

This time when I wake, the man is beside me. It's Sirius, but he must be a ghost. He doesn't look like the ghosts at Hogwarts. He reaches out and strokes my cheek with a finger, as if testing to see if I'm real. Maybe I'm not. Maybe I'm dead too, or maybe I'm dreaming.

He says something, but I don't hear him. Then he says it again – my name. His voice is hoarse, barely more than a whisper and his eyes are sunken into his face. He has a hollow, gaunt look, like when he first got out of Azkaban. I sit up, ignoring the stabbing pains in my head.

'Sirius?'

'I'm back'

And then we're clinging to each other, and he's like a skeleton, and he smells strange, but I don't care, because he's real and he's here with me and I have never been so happy in my entire life. We're both crying, his tears dripping onto my face because he's always been taller than me, and one finds its way into my mouth. Somehow this tiny tear, a drop of salty water, tastes like him and then my mouth is on his and we're kissing and it's just like I remembered, amazing and wonderful and perfection.

My stomach is doing somersaults, and it's so cliché until I lean over to be violently sick on the floor. This reminds me – I have a killer hangover. I stand up and swallow the potion that I thankfully had the foresight to leave on the table last night, then I turn back to Sirius.

Together, as if by some unspoken agreement, we draw out chairs at the table and face each other. He tells me what he can remember, how he was stuck in an ethereal prison of horror, and how when he got out the ministry gave him clothes and sent him packing, turning a blind eye to his still – criminal status due to his miraculous escape. I tell him of the fights, how we won and of the deaths and victories. It's exhilarating and brilliant and I hope to Merlin this isn't a dream.

We kiss again and I know it isn't, because no dream could feel like this, could so perfectly capture his scent and the way he feels. No dream could ever have such a happy ending.


End file.
